


Wolf's Time

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Illness with a happy ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Rumbelle Revelry 2017, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, mentions of restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 18:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12513928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Rumplestiltskin lives a simple life with his son, but as Samhain draws near, they find a young woman in trouble, and want to help.  Some years later, they meet again.  Prompts used: "Spinner!Rumple meets Witch!Belle", "Beware"  Winner of Best Spinner!Rumple in The Espenson Awards 2018





	Wolf's Time

Wolf’s Time was three nights of sleeplessness and worry for the villages in the Longbourn Vale.  The wolves that roamed the hills and woods at every full moon were said to be the biggest anyone had seen.  Too often sheep were taken, sometimes young cattle, and there were rumours of men having been killed, although that hadn’t happened for a few years.  The villagers brought their animals in now, bolting their doors and windows and sitting up with weapons at hand, listening in fear as howls rang around the valley.

The shepherds were possibly the worst off, most of them living on farms or smallholdings outside the relative security of the villages, their flocks scattered across the surrounding hills and fields.  The ones who could afford to buy extra feed kept them inside locked barns for the full three days, but most had no choice but to let them graze, and then go out and herd them in each evening, before the moon rose.

Rumplestiltskin, shepherd and spinner, trudged along a well-worn path that led into the woods, keeping an eye out for the one missing sheep they had yet to find.  The others were safely shut in the little barn, the door locked and bolted against any that might steal them away, be they wolves or men.   It was hard enough to get through the winter without losing one of the flock.  Late autumn was already upon them, the approaching Samhain celebrations prompting the villagers to carve lanterns out of squash and turnips, candles illuminating hideous faces to scare away evil spirits.  The next night there would be dancing in the village square, hot spiced mead and honey-roasted pork and apples, and no one would feel the cold.  Today though, it was just another ordinary evening on the cusp of winter, with biting winds and the threat of snow, the leaves already stripped from the trees and the tang of ice in the air.

Rumplestiltskin was a short, thin man in his middle years, brown hair falling around high cheekbones and just starting to grey at the temples.  He leaned heavily on his staff as he walked, the pain in his ruined leg an ever-present reminder of his failure, his cowardice.  His son Baelfire trotted ahead, pushing the little cart they used for collecting firewood.  A sturdy child of eight, he had his mother’s good looks and dark hair, but little of her fiery temperament.  Little of his, either, he supposed; Bae was outgoing and popular, laughing easily and scared of nothing.  Perhaps that came from his mother, too.  Perhaps there was nothing of him in his son.  Probably just as well.

“I hear her, Papa!” said Bae suddenly, and Rumple squinted into the fading light, listening.

Sure enough, the plaintive bleating of the missing ewe was coming from in amongst the trees, deep in the forest.  Bae left the woodcart standing and set off after the sound, hefting his crook.

“Careful, son!” warned Rumple.  “The trees are thick, and it’ll be dark soon.  Watch where you put your feet.”

“I will!”  Bae called over his shoulder, and Rumple smiled as he disappeared into the trees.  Fearless and impetuous, he was.  Nothing like his father.

He followed at a slower pace, leaving the cart where it was with its load of firewood.  Shadows fell thick between the trees, the sunset casting a faint orange glow where the light touched fissured bark and the curled edges of dried leaves.  He listened to the rustling of Bae’s steps ahead of him, the boy’s feet leaving an easy trail through the fallen leaves and the ewe’s bleating growing louder.

“Papa!”

Bae’s voice was high and squeaky, and Rumple quickened his pace, fear blooming in his chest.  He almost stumbled into his son as he entered a clearing, but his relief at seeing Bae safe and well was fleeting.  Across the clearing, a young woman was bound to the trunk of a large beech tree, her wrists manacled above her head and thick chains wrapping around the trunk.  Blood was trickling down her arm from a cut on her wrist, staining the fine linen shirt she wore above soft leather trousers.  She had been gagged, he saw, a strip of rough linen forced between her lips and tied behind her head, and her eyes were wide and terrified.

The missing sheep was at the edge of the clearing, her fleece badly tangled in a thorn bush, and the sight of her seemed to trigger something in him.  He patted Bae’s arm.

“Go get the sheep, son,” he said quietly, and unhooked a length of thin rope from his belt.  “Here, make a halter, like I showed you.  Remember?”

Bae nodded, and began twisting the rope into a halter, his small fingers fumbling a little.  Rumple stepped forward, picking his way across the clearing.  The young woman’s eyes grew more fearful as he approached, her chest heaving as her breathing quickened, and he held up a hand, trying to make himself even smaller and less threatening than he already felt.

“I - I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly.  “I was going to let you out of those chains, alright?”

She seemed to calm a little, but she still watched him with eyes made large and bright with fear.  Very blue eyes, he saw, as he drew closer.  He set his staff on the ground beside the tree and reached up hesitantly.

“I’m gonna take this off,” he said gently, gesturing at the gag.

She nodded her head a fraction.  There was a gash on her smooth cheek, and another, shallower one on her forehead.  It looked as though she had fallen, or been struck.  He reached behind her head, feeling for the knot and tugging it open with his thumbs.  The linen was coarse, but he managed it, and it came free from her mouth with a trickle of saliva and a sigh of relief from her.  She let her head sag a little, breathing hard, and tears began to track down her cheeks, her body shaking.  Her face was badly bruised and swollen on one side, a cut on her lip seeping a little blood.

“Let me see what I can do about these chains,” he said, keeping his voice low and quiet.

He reached up to look them over.  The manacles were simple to unfasten, a matter of taking out the heavy iron pin that held them closed and freeing her thumbs from the smaller rings of metal around them.  No longer held taut, the chain hit the ground with a loud clinking, and the woman fell forward into his arms.  Rumple staggered a little, wishing he had his staff, but in a moment Bae was there, handing it to him and looking worried.

“Is she alright?” he asked, and Rumple glanced down at the woman.  Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes closed.

“I think she’s fainted,” he said quietly.  “We should try to get some help.”

“No one will come out now,” said Bae.  “It’s almost dark.”

That was true.  Rumple thought quickly.

“Do you think you could go back and bring the woodcart?” he asked.  “We should be able to push it through the trees, with a bit of luck.”

Bae nodded, handing him the sheep’s halter before darting off, and Rumple stood, holding the young woman against himself and hoping she would wake.  She wasn’t much of a weight, being smaller than he was, and slight too.  Eyelashes lay against her pale cheeks in dark crescents, and her chestnut hair was held off her face in a thick braid.  Her clothing was simple - leather trousers and a sleeveless jerkin over her shirt - but it was excellent quality, and the linen was the finest he had seen.  She was no ordinary villager, that much was clear.  For a moment fear swept over him; perhaps she had been kidnapped for ransom, and he and Bae would be killed by those that had taken her.  Perhaps she was a princess, and he would be dragged before the king in chains for daring to lay a hand on her.

Anxious thoughts skittered through his mind, and it was a relief when Bae appeared through the trees, pushing the little cart.  It was easy enough to lay the woman down and cover her with his cloak to keep her warm, and they set off back to the road, Bae pushing the cart and Rumple pulling the sheep along behind him.

The sun had fully set when they reached their smallholding, and Rumple looked around anxiously as a mournful howling went up in the hills around.  The wolves were out.  He hastened to the barn, pushing the sheep in with her sisters and locking and bolting the door again.  Getting the young woman out of the cart and into the house was difficult, and eventually he almost had to carry her in one arm, using his staff to support him on the other side.  It was a good thing she really _wasn’t_ any weight, he reflected, as he laid her in his own cot.  Bae shut and locked the door behind them, and Rumple turned.

“Make sure you do the windows too, son,” he said quietly.  “And fetch some water for tea.”

He built up the fire from the burning embers that still glowed in the hearth, watching in satisfaction as new flames licked over the wood.  Bae brought a kettle of water, and Rumple took it from him to set over the building heat.

“Is she gonna be alright, Papa?” asked Bae anxiously, and Rumple sent him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I hope so,” he said.  “She has some cuts that need cleaning up, and it looks as though she’s been treated very badly by someone.  All we can do is patch her up, let her sleep and give her something to eat when she wakes.”

“There’s some of that stew you made yesterday,” said Bae.  “i don’t mind sharing.”

“The stew will stretch to three of us,” agreed Rumple.  “Especially with the bread we have, and maybe some cheese.”

“I hope she wakes soon,” said Bae fervently.  “I’m starving.”

Rumple chuckled.

“Get the stew ready and sit it on the warming plate, then,” he said.  “So it’s done when she wakes.”

Bae busied himself with the pan of stew, and Rumple kept an eye on him, nodding as he set it on the warm metal plate next to the fire.  It would heat through gradually there, filling the house with the fragrance of mutton and herbs and sweet root vegetables.  He tested the water in the kettle with a finger, wincing as it almost scalded him, and used a ladle to put some into a bowl to cool a little.  The rest would be for tea.  He threw a large pinch of dried nettles and limeflowers into the kettle, putting the lid back on the tea jar, and set the bowl of hot water by the bed.  Bae shuffled closer, looking down at the woman.

“She’s pretty,” he observed.  “Why would someone be horrible to her?  Leaving her for the wolves!  Who could do that?”

_Someone we don’t want to meet, that’s for sure._

“I don’t know,” said Rumple quietly.  “Could you pass me some of that cloth?”

Bae handed him some cloth, and he dipped it in the water, which had cooled enough to touch.  He wrung it out, using it to clean the cut on the woman’s wrist, which was still bleeding.  Bae fetched a strip of bandage without being asked, and Rumple nodded his thanks.

“Best get some honey, too,” he said, and Bae ran off to fetch the stone jar of honey.  It was delicious to eat on toasted bread, but even better for healing deeper wounds like this, and he smeared some onto her wrist and bound it with the bandage, tying it off.  Then he turned back to wet the cloth again and dab at the dried blood on the young woman’s face.  She moaned a little, turning her head, and Bae gasped as an angry red burn showed on her pale neck.  A brand in the shape of four slanting lines, a letter that showed the possible reason for her being left for hungry wolves.   _W_.

“Papa, you know what that mark means,” whispered Bae, and Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“Son, there are a lot of superstitious people around here,” he said quietly.  “She doesn’t look as though she’d harm us, does she?  She doesn’t look like a witch.”

Bae looked over the sleeping woman’s form, and nodded.

“I guess - I guess if she had magic, she could have freed herself,” he reasoned.

“Could be she’s run up against one of the village councils for some minor slight, and they condemned her out of hand,” added Rumple.  “You remember how it was with Morraine’s mother, before the sheriff could step in.”

Bae scowled at the memory, and squared his shoulders.

“I’ll put some more wood on the fire,” he announced.  “She looks cold.”

Rumple continued to dab gently at the dried blood, loosening it enough to wipe it away in flecks of reddish-brown and revealing grazed skin and shallow cuts.  A fall onto stone, he suspected.  He washed that too, and whispered to Bae to fetch the yarrow and comfrey ointment they used to treat minor wounds.  At the first touch of the ointment on her skin, the young woman’s eyes flew open, and she shrank from him in fear for a moment before she seemed to recognise him.

“You have some wounds,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle.  “I - I was just trying to treat them, that’s all.  Is - is that alright?”

She nodded slowly, settling back in the blankets, and he continued to apply the ointment with deft little flicks of his fingertips.  She winced as he touched her cut lip, and he sent her a look of apology.

“You saved me,” she said, her voice clear and warm.

“It’s Wolf’s Time,” he said calmly.  “No one should be outdoors at night.  Least of all tied to a tree.”

Her mouth twitched at that, and she watched as he pushed the cork lid back into the pot of ointment.  He looked up at her, shaking his hair back.

“There,” he said.  “All done.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Rumplestiltskin, m’lady,” he said.  “And this is my son, Baelfire.”

“We brought you here on a woodcart,” added Bae eagerly, and she almost smiled, her eyes brightening a little.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.  “I’m very grateful.”

“What’s your name?” asked Bae.

“M’lady!” whispered Rumple, and Bae bit his lip.

“Sorry, m’lady,” he said, but the young woman smiled.

“I don’t think I’m a lady any more,” she said.  “I don’t think I’m anything.  My name is Belle.  My father is Sir Maurice.”

“The local lord?” said Rumple, puzzled.  “I’ve heard of him, of course, but we never really see him down here.  I don’t think I even know what he looks like.”

“We see the tax collectors, though,” put in Bae.  “They come and take everything we’ve worked all year for and barely leave us enough to eat.”

“Baelfire!” said Rumple sharply, and Bae looked abashed, but Belle seemed to find his candour amusing.

“Yes, he does like to make the poor pay for his wars,” she said dryly.  “I tried to convince him that it would make more sense to leave the villagers with more to feed themselves, but I’m afraid my opinions were dismissed.  Right now they matter even less than yours, I should think.”

“You said - you said you weren’t a lady,” said Rumple.  “I don’t understand what you mean.  If you’re the lord’s daughter…”

“Oh, he cast me out,” she said calmly, as though it didn’t matter.  “He’s disowned me.”

“Your own father?”

Belle laughed then, low and rich, her eyes sparkling.

“It looks to me as though you love your child, Rumplestiltskin,” she said.  “I’m afraid that isn’t always the case in the noble houses.”

She looked weary, and a little sad, and he decided to change the subject.

“I’ve done as much as I can without calling on the wise woman,” he said, gesturing to her injuries.  “Your shirt is bloody, though.  Would you like me to wash it?”

“Oh, I can do that,” she said hastily.  “I wouldn’t want to put you to any more trouble.  Actually…”

She chewed her lip, wincing at the pain and looking unsure, and he felt a sudden urge to protect her.  As if he ever could.

“If there’s anything we can do to help, we will,” he assured her, and Bae nodded eagerly.  She gave them an almost apologetic look.

“I’ve been locked up for three days with no chance to change my things,” she said.  “Do you have somewhere I could wash up and clean my clothes?”

“I’m afraid we only have this one room,” said Rumple.  “But I could bring a screen for you to change and wash behind, though.  If - if you like.”

She smiled then, her eyes lighting up, and he thought how beautiful she was.  There was goodness in her too, and intelligence, shining out of her.  He shoved the thoughts away.

“Let’s have some tea first,” he suggested.  “We’ll need to boil water for you.  Bae, could you bring the big kettle over?”

Each day of Wolf’s Time, they filled kettles and pans with water and brought them into the house, so they could be sure of having water in the evening without having to go outside to the well.  He poured the tea into three cups while Bae set the largest of the copper kettles on the fire, filled with water and ready to boil.  Bae struggled with the weight, and Rumple helped him to lift it, but eventually it was on the hook and he stepped back with a huff of relief.  Belle settled back against the pillows with a sigh, cradling her cup of tea and looking around the house with interest.

“You’re a spinner,” she observed, seeing the wheel in one corner.

“And a weaver,” said Bae proudly.  “He’s teaching me, aren’t you Papa?”

“And you’re coming along wonderfully,” said Rumple, sending him a fond look.

“It must be a hard life,” Belle said pensively.  “Up early to tend your sheep, cleaning and spinning the wool, then weaving it.”

“I’m fortunate to have a trade, and a home,” said Rumple.  “There are others far worse off, I assure you.”

“I believe you,” she said softly.

He wondered what would become of her, when she left.  How would a knight’s daughter fare with nothing to her name and a brand on her neck?  Belle sipped at her tea, and looked up sharply as a wolf howl sounded outside again.  Bae shivered, edging closer to Rumple, who put an arm around him.  The wolf howled again, closer this time, and Belle bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the door.

“We’re safe in here,” Rumple assured her.  “They come sniffing around, but as long as the animals are locked up tight and there are no doors open, we’re safe.”

“Oh, it’s not that, I just thought…”

She set her tea aside, getting to her feet and going to the door.  Rumple and Bae exchanged a puzzled look, but Belle smiled.

“She must have tracked me here after the sun went down.” she said, almost to herself, and unbolted the door, opening it up.

“Wait!”  Rumple grabbed for his staff, pushing to his feet.  “What - what are you doing?”

He stumbled towards the door, but she was merely holding it open and looking out into the night.  Heart thumping in his chest, he spied a large wolf watching them, its shoulders hunched as though it were about to spring.  Its hackles rose at the sight of him, and a low growl rumbled from its throat.  Its lips drew back over its teeth in a fierce snarl, and Rumple felt his heart thump high in his throat as he tried to work out how to save Bae and Belle, should the beast attack.

“It’s alright,” said Belle, in a clear voice, and he glanced across at her.  She was gazing at the wolf, and after a moment it turned its attention from him to her.  The growling stopped.

“I’m safe,” she said soothingly, as though the thing could understand her.  “They unchained me and patched me up.  I’ll be here for the rest of the night.  You should go and hunt, but leave this man’s sheep alone.  And _try_ not to terrorise the villagers.”

The wolf shook its head, snorting a little through its muzzle as though it was arguing, but eyed her once more and then loped away, tail swishing.  Belle shut the door again, turning to Rumple with a smile.  He was unable to speak.  Could she talk to animals?  Was the mark on her neck deserved?  Was she really a witch?  Belle bolted the door, and he licked his lips, his throat dry.

“I’ve known her since she was small,” she explained.  “You’ve nothing to fear from her, Wolf’s Time or not.”

He let out a long breath.  A wolf cub, found when young and tamed, then.  He’d heard of such things before, but never expected them of a lady.  No doubt it was the tone of her voice that had calmed the beast, rather than the words she had chosen.  Belle put a hand on his arm, making him flinch in surprise, and she stepped back.

“Let’s finish that tea,” she said gently.  “It was delicious, and I don’t want to waste it.”

“The limeflowers should help you sleep,” he said, largely because he couldn’t think of anything else.

At his words Belle stopped, looking around herself.

“Oh,” she said.  “Did I - did I take your bed?  I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” he said.  “Bae and I can share his.  Please, think nothing of it.”

They finished their tea, by which time the water had begun to boil.  Rumple set down the large tin bowl that they used to wash in, and he and Bae carried the kettle of water between them to pour in.  Bae brought another, smaller kettle to pour in to cool the water enough for washing, which left them with one more for tea.

“Is that enough?” asked Rumple.  “I’m afraid the pump is all the way across the yard.”

He hoped she wouldn’t tell him that she wanted more water and that there was no danger from the wolves.  Not that he thought she was a liar, but the wolf out there had looked both mean and hungry.  He had no desire to face it with only his staff.  Belle smiled.

“Thank you, that’s perfect.”

He gave her a cake of the soap that they used, and after a moment, one of his nightshirts.  The thought of her wearing his clothes caused an odd sensation in the depths of his belly.  It was almost - unnerving.  Bae brought the three-panelled screen, a construct of wood and stretched skin that they used to keep out the draughts in the worst of the winter winds.  He opened it out in front of the tub of water and Belle disappeared behind.

Rumple busied himself with making the supper, trying to ignore the rustling of clothing from behind the screen, followed by gentle splashes and sighs.  The stew was just starting to bubble, and he tasted it briefly before adding a tiny pinch from their meagre stock of salt.  Bae put the tea kettle over the fire again, and Rumple cut slices of crusty bread and set out a dish of sheep’s butter and one of the small, crumbly ewe’s milk cheeses, taken from the cold store that morning.

Belle appeared from behind the screen just as he was carrying the pot of stew to the table.  She had brushed out her hair, and it hung in shining waves around her shoulders.  His nightshirt was a little too long for her, only her toes peeking out beneath, and the light seemed to shine through it, highlighting the curves of her body.  He averted his eyes immediately, almost throwing the stew onto the table and scrabbling for the best of his newly-woven shawls.

“Here,” he said with a touch of desperation.  “Wrap yourself in this.  You’ll get cold.”

Belle took it with a brief furrow of her brow, wrapping the soft wool around her shoulders.  The shawl was dark green, the result of an experiment with new dyes obtained from the next town over, and he was proud of how it had turned out.  The colour suited her, and when she wrapped it around herself she made a noise of pleasure.

“This is very fine work,” she said approvingly, fingering the edge of the shawl.  “Did you make it?”

“Keeps me busy during the winter,” he said, and gestured to the table.  “Please, sit.  Supper is ready.”

There was silence for a good ten minutes as the stew and bread were handed around.  Belle dug in with a will, clearing her bowl even before Bae did, and Rumple wondered how long it had been since she had eaten.  Locked up for three days, she had said, but surely they had fed her.  Even prisoners had rights.

“There’s more if you want it,” he said, and she shot him a grateful look, holding out her bowl for a second helping.

Rumple cut some cheese for her, setting it on the plate with her bread, and she took a moment to spread butter on the bread and slice the cheese, biting down and making a noise of satisfaction.

“It’s better than anything I ever ate from my father’s kitchens,” she said warmly, and Bae puffed up in pride, casting a delighted glance at his father.  Rumple motioned at him to eat his stew, and he dug the spoon into his bowl.

“Why were you chained up, Miss Belle?” he asked.

“Bae…”

Rumple shook his head, but Belle put down her spoon for a moment.

“I don’t mind sharing my tale,” she said.  “I think it’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

Bae shifted in his seat, almost quivering with interest, and Belle took another mouthful of stew, chewing and swallowing before beginning.

“My father had promised me to a knight, Sir Gaston,” she said.  “They want to merge their lands, you see, and marriage is the easiest way in which to do that.”

Rumple nodded.  He paid little attention to the lives of the local nobility.  It was hard enough to put food on the table without worrying about what those who never went hungry did, but arranged marriages were common, it seemed.

“Sir Gaston is - vile and cruel,” she said softly, lowering her eyes.  “I’d known him for years, and I knew I couldn’t give myself to him.  I refused the match.  My father threatened to beat me until I said yes.  When I said he’d have to kill me first, he said he would beat my best friend instead.  So I ran away.”

Rumple shook his head.

“I thought the knight you were promised to was the cruel one,” he said.  “For your own father to do that…”

“Oh, they’re very much alike,” she said dryly, picking up her bread and cheese.  “I told him _he_ should marry Gaston.  I’m sure they’d get along very well.”

“You said you left,” prompted Bae, and she nodded, taking a bite and waiting for a moment before continuing.

“The guards caught me when I was almost at the forest,” she said.  “I knew if I could get in among the trees, I would be safe, but they found me before I could get that far.  They took me back to my father.”

“Was he the one that hit you?” asked Rumple grimly, and she nodded, one hand lifting automatically to touch her face.

“He said if I wouldn’t obey him, I was no longer his daughter,” she said.  “He told me he’d legitimise one of his bastard children and throw me out with nothing.  I said that had to be better than marrying Sir Gaston.”

Bae chuckled, but Belle looked uncomfortable.

“He - didn’t like that,” she said.  “He liked it even less when my father’s advisers told him that the people loved me, and wouldn’t take kindly to me being disowned.  So they did the only thing that would ensure no one would pity me.  They branded me a witch.”

“We saw the brand,” said Bae.  “But we don’t think you’re a witch, do we Papa?  And - and even if you were, I bet you’d be a good witch!”

Belle smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“Well, not everyone shares your trusting nature, Baelfire,” she said gently.  “There was a farce of a trial, and then Father had his men take me out to the forest, where they chained me up, and left me for the wolves.  I’m lucky that you found me.”

Rumple shook his head.  He was used to hearing tales of cruelty from the nobles, of course, but for someone to do that to another, to a child of theirs, all for the pursuit of land and riches…  It made no sense to him, and he was glad that he would never be in such a position of power.  It seemed that power corrupted.

“I’m so sorry to hear of your troubles, Miss Belle,” he said quietly.  “Do you - do you have a place to go?  You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

She turned her smile on him then, her eyes gleaming in the light of the candles.

“You’re very kind,” she said warmly, “but I’ll be moving on in the morning.  I can’t be certain that my father won’t send his men to make sure I’m dead, and if they find the shackles open and no sign of me, I fear they’d come looking nearby.  It’s safest for you if I go.”

He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter, that she was welcome to stay anyway, but the truth was he was well aware of what little regard the nobles had for peasants.  If it was discovered that he and Bae had sheltered her, they would probably be killed.  Best that she left.  He turned back to his meal, casting brief glances at her as she ate, and hoped that she would find a safe place to stay.

* * *

Rumple slept poorly, crammed into Bae’s cot with his son wedged at his side.  Bae had a tendency to thrash around in his sleep, and after the third time of being whacked in the head with an arm, Rumple decided to get up.  Dawn was just greying the sky, and he pulled on boots and a cloak and grabbed the milking pail, slipping from the house as quietly as he could.

He heard nothing from the wolves, although he could see where they had been, large paw-prints in the soft mud near the well and around the neat rows of vegetables.  The sheep were already milling around in the barn, bleating softly as they sensed the new day.  They needed milking, and he opened up the barn door, speaking softly to them as he went inside and grabbed the stool.

Some time later, the sun had crept above the horizon, sending beams of orange light into the barn through the high windows.  Bae put his head around the barn door, looking surprised to see him there.

“It was my turn to do the milking today,” he said.

“Almost done,” said Rumple.  “Be a good lad and turn the sheep out into the meadow, then come straight back.”

He sat back, giving the ewe in front of him a slap on her rump, and she bounded away after her sisters.  He watched as Bae led them to the fields, his small frame almost skipping as he sang in his high, piping voice, the sheep trotting beside him.  Rumple smiled to himself.  Yes.  A hard living it might be, but their lives could certainly be worse.

He poured the milk into a large stone crock in the cold store.  It was often used for drinking, of course, but with this batch he planned to make some more cheese.  The strong, cured cheeses were a pleasant addition to the winter table, and could be traded with neighbours for some bacon or tallow candles, if the need arose.  He washed his hands and face under the pump, then picked up a basket and went to collect the eggs from their six hens.  They had laid one each, enough for a decent breakfast for them all, and he ducked into the cold store again to pick up the milk that had been stored there yesterday, along with a dish of the fresh, creamy cheese he had made.  After a moment, he put two of the small cured cheeses in the basket as well.

Belle was stirring as he entered the house, her dark hair lying in tousled curls against her pale cheeks.  She opened her eyes, looking confused for a moment, and he smiled at her.

“Good morning,” he said.  “I’m just about to make breakfast.”

“Oh.”  She yawned, which somehow made her even more beautiful, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.  “Good morning.”

He put water on for tea and divided the fresh cheese between three bowls, adding cobnuts and berries and a drizzle of honey from the pot on the shelf.  Belle took a place at the table, wrapped in the shawl, and beamed up at him as he set a bowl in front of her and poured her a cup of milk.  Bae almost burst through the door, letting in a blast of cold air, and hurried to the table.

“Did you wash your hands?” asked Rumple.

“Yes,” said Bae, after a pause, and groaned as Rumple gave him a flat look before ducking outside again.  Belle chuckled.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.  “You’ve been so good to me, I feel as though I’ve been sitting around like a lump.”

“You’re a guest,” he said, slicing bread.  “If you’re moving on this morning, the least I can do is send you off with a decent breakfast.  I’ll cook some eggs after this.”

Bae came back in then, hands clean and damp, and sat down at the table, and Rumple spooned tea into the kettle before taking his own seat.  He glanced across at Belle, and she smiled, her eyes gleaming.  He felt his heart lurch strangely, and he knew he would miss her, brief as her stay had been.

She dressed in her dry things after breakfast, and Rumple put some bread and apples and two of the hard cheeses into a bag for her.  He inspected her wounds, pronouncing them to be healing nicely.  The grazes on her face were clean and had scabbed over.  He left the wound on her wrist bound, so that the honey could do its work, and checked the burn on her neck.  That looked less angry than it had, but she would have a scar.  His mouth flattened at the thought of scarring that perfect skin, and how much it must have hurt her.

“It’s noticeable, isn’t it?” she said quietly, and he nodded.

“Keep the shawl,” he said.  “I have others.”

It was a reckless gift; the shawl had taken many hours of work and was worth good money to them, but he couldn’t bear the thought of her being in danger because of something done to her by evil men.  She tried to refuse, but he was insistent, and in the end she relented, smiling up at him and saying how kind he was.  It gave him a warm feeling deep within his chest, but he stepped back from her when it began to sink into his belly.

“I should go,” she said regretfully, and he nodded, handing her the bag of food.

“Bae and I can see you to the edge of the forest,” he said, but she shook her head.

“I’ve already caused you too much trouble,” she said.  “I’ll say goodbye now, and thank you.”

She raised up on her toes, and kissed his cheek, a brief press of her lips.

“Thank you for everything, Rumplestiltskin,” she said.  “I won’t forget it.”

She hugged Bae, smiled at them both, and was gone through the door with a rush of cold air and the scent of the snows to come.  Rumple pressed his fingers to his cheek, where he could still feel the imprint of her kiss, a circle of fire in the cool of the dawn.

* * *

He thought of her often, that strange young woman with the wide blue eyes and ready smile.  He found himself thinking of her as he tried to sleep, wondering whether she was safe, whether she was warm.  The winter closed in, blanketing the valley in snow, and he and Bae spent the evenings spinning and weaving, his nimble fingers creating intricate patterns around the edges of fine shawls, but the memory of Belle, wrapped in soft green wool, stayed in his mind.

He thought of her again as the next autumn ended, as Samhain came and went, and as Wolf’s Time drew near.  He had been to market to sell, although few were buying anything more than spun thread and wool, and small scarves.  The harvest had been poor, and the villagers spent what they had on food.  He was subdued as he and Bae made their way back home along the forest road, with most of their wares still on the little cart Bae was pushing.  At this rate it would be a hard winter.

Their footsteps seemed to echo strangely on the packed earth, mist rising in amongst the trees and crawling up the darkened trunks.  Fingers of white crept towards him, inching their way along the cold ground, and Rumple shivered, pushing his chin into his scarf.  The cold weather made his leg ache terribly, and he could sense that it would get worse.  A bleak day, and a bitter few days to come.  He trudged at a steady pace despite the pain, racking his brains as he thought of who amongst the neighbours might exchange a sack of flour for some of his goods.  Probably none of them.  Trying to get through the winter without bread wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate.

“You dropped this.”

A voice made him turn, and he blinked at a beautiful, dark-haired young woman, her slender figure swathed in a rich red cloak, tendrils of mist stroking against her dark skirts.  She was holding up what looked like his coin purse, and he almost sagged in relief.  If he had lost what little they had managed to make by dropping it in the road…

“Thank you!” he said, reaching for it and looking it over as he turned the purse between trembling hands.  “Thank you so much, I’m…”

He glanced up again, but the woman had gone, not even a glimpse of her red cloak showing through the mist-shrouded trees.

“Where did she go?” asked Bae, puzzled, and Rumple shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “It’s a good thing she was behind us, though, or I’d have lost…”

He cut off, patting his belt.  His coin purse was still there, the silver and coppers they had made clinking inside.  The purse in his hand was identical, even down to the puckering at one corner when Bae had stitched it too tight.  Hands shaking, he opened it up, and gasped at the glimpse of gold within.

“Papa!” breathed Bae, looking over his shoulder.  “Papa, is that really _gold_?”

The purse held thirteen gold coins, enough to see them through another year at least if things got no worse, and if they were careful.  Rumple took a piece out, watching it gleam in the light, then shoved it back in with the others, glancing around nervously.

“Let’s get back home, son,” he said.  “We can look at it there.”

“Maybe that woman was a fairy,” suggested Bae.  “Like a fairy godmother, or something.  Maybe she’s looking out for us.”

“Maybe so.”

Rumple squinted back down the road, but there was no sign of the woman.  He wasn’t sure that fairies would have any interest in him, anyway.  They certainly hadn’t seemed to thus far.  He turned his head back towards home.  The work on a farm was never done, even one as small as theirs, and gold coins today didn’t mean you couldn’t starve tomorrow.  His tread was lighter than it had been that morning, though, his worry a little easier.  He could purchase a second wheel for Bae to use, and squirrel the rest away in case of further hard times.  They would be fine, here in their little smallholding amongst the forests, where no one ever came to disturb them but wolves and tax collectors.  They would be left in peace.

* * *

The Ogre Wars started the very next year.

No one in the villages knew how it had begun, but there were rumours that the far-off Duke of the Frontlands had been the first to march against them, though whether that was to attack or defend, no one was sure.  Word reached the villagers in late spring, and it was hoped that the war would be over before any sign of it came to the Longbourn Vale.  By summer, terrible tales were reaching the villages, brought by traders and travellers, and those fleeing the areas that the war had already swallowed up.  Tales of soldiers being torn limb from limb, of lines of men and horses stomped to death by the ogres.  Some of the traders spoke confidently of the size of the Duke’s armies, and how he was standing firm against the monsters that had come for them.  Others, those who had actually been at the front, cast weary, scornful eyes at them, and pulled small children closer.  They didn’t stay, wanting to head as far from the war as they could, and Rumple wondered if anyone in the land was safe, or if the ogres would sweep over them all in a tide of terror and carnage.

Summer became autumn, and tax collectors appeared as the harvest ended, swathed in their black robes with heavy ledgers strapped to their saddles.  They arrived in the Vale just as the villagers were preparing the Harvest Festival, slithering in amongst the tables of fresh produce like slugs in the vegetable patch.

They were accompanied by soldiers in black leather and chainmail.  At first Rumple thought they were there to protect the tax collectors; the villagers were being asked to give more, and there had already been a few shouted protests from the farmers.  After a while, though, he noticed that the soldiers were studying the men and boys.  Their eyes flicked over him once, and dismissed him.  A lame man was no threat.  They lingered a little too long on Baelfire for his liking, and he sidled up to the miller, who was scowling at the soldiers.

“What are they doing here?” he asked quietly, and the miller curled his lip as he glanced at him.  Rumple was used to that.

“Here for new recruits,” he said shortly.  “Looks like the war isn’t going as well as they thought.”

Several of the younger men were eager to go with the soldiers, once promises of a steady wage paid to their families was made, and tall tales of the riches of wartime plunder were shared by some of the soldiers.  Rumple failed to see what ogres could possibly want with riches, but the young villagers ate up the tales over mugs of ale and a dozen went with the soldiers, despite the tearful protests of their mothers.  Harvest Festival was the most subdued he had ever seen it, although given the lack of decent grain, some of the villagers thought they had little to be thankful for, and cursed the gods under their breath.

None of the young men returned alive, and there were no more volunteers when the soldiers returned at the next Harvest Festival.  Bae was eleven now, and Rumple’s heart clenched as more than one soldier showed an interest in him.  They had started taking boys as young as sixteen.  Rumple prayed every night that the war would end soon, that no more children would die, but if the gods heard him, they paid no heed.

The autumn rolled on, the days growing shorter and colder as the leaves fell and the first frosts coated them in silver and white.  Rumple and Bae made their way home from the market, unsold goods piled in their cart.  Villagers only had coin to spare for thread now, and the few coppers in his purse were a worry.  It was Wolf’s Time, as well, which automatically made people nervous and more inclined to keep to their houses.  At this rate he would have to slaughter another one of the sheep to keep them going through the winter.

He kept a sharp eye out for anything to eat in the bushes and amongst the trees as they passed; berries and nuts were a nutritious (and more importantly free) addition to their winter stores.  As luck would have it, he spied a patch of mushrooms in the shadow of an oak tree, and gathered them up in one of the folds of his cloak, smiling slightly at the thought of something different to add to their dinner of mutton broth.  He flicked back his hair as he straightened up, his breath misting in the cold air.  Bae had stopped as they reached the forest, leaning on the handles of the cart and breathing heavily.

“Are you alright, son?”

Rumple turned back to him, worried, and Bae nodded, but his face was pale.

“Fine,” he said listlessly,  “Just tired, that’s all, and my head aches.  It’s not much further.”

He set off again, the cart rumbling over the ruts, and Rumple watched him with growing anxiety.  There had been rumours of sickness and death in the city, a terrible pestilence that took almost all that suffered it.  There was no sign of it in the outlying villages, though.  Perhaps it was simply a cold coming on.  He walked quickly to catch up, his leg agony at every step.

“Let’s get you home,” he said.  “Some good hot broth inside you - I’m sure you’ll be right as rain.”

“Not really hungry.”

Well, now he _was_ worried.  Bae losing his appetite was almost unheard of.  He tried not to let it show on his face, wishing that he didn’t have a limp and could push the cart himself, so Bae could ride all the way home.   _While you’re at it you may as well wish you were a lord with a carriage and four_ , he thought wryly.  Their pace had slowed considerably, and his anxiety grew.  It was a relief when the village came into view, with their small farm in the distance.

Bae almost collapsed onto his bed when they entered the house, mumbling about his headache, and Rumple hurried to boil water and heat yesterday’s broth.  He made willowbark tea, adding some lemon balm to make it taste better, and waited with rising panic as Bae seemed to fade before his eyes.  He had managed to take off his coat, but the effort seemed to have exhausted him, and he lay still on top of the bed, shivering.

Rumple carried the tea over to him, blowing to cool it as much as he could, and pulled the blankets over his son.  Bae clutched them to his chest.

“Here,” said Rumple gently.  “Drink this.  It’ll help.”

He put an arm around Bae’s shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position, and Bae sipped obediently at the tea.

“There’s broth if you want it,” said Rumple, and Bae shook his head.

He finished the tea, and Rumple laid him down in the cot, feeling helpless as he shivered and shook.  Laying a hand to Bae’s forehead made his heart clench; that kind of fever was dangerous.  He checked the coins in his belt pouch, wondering if he had enough to call on the wise woman, and thinking that he would go without food for the rest of the week if that was what it took.  Bae’s breathing grew rapid and shallow, and he made a decision.

“I’m going to get some help,” he said.  “I - I won’t be a moment, I promise.”

Bae didn’t respond, and Rumple hurried from the house as fast as he could, his heart in his throat.

Widow Brighde was a small, squat old woman who smoked a pipe filled with unknown herbs, and who liked her mead.  She was a good healer, though, firm rather than kindly, but very knowledgeable about herbs and ailments.  She grumbled a little when Rumple explained that Bae couldn’t be moved, but picked up her herb scrip and grabbed her shawl, wrapping it around herself and waddling after him along the narrow track that led to his small farm.

“How’s his appetite?” she asked.

“I made some broth earlier, but he didn’t want it,” said Rumple.  “Not like him at all.”

“Fever?”

“Burning up.  I - I didn’t want to leave him, but…”

“Aye, I understand, lad,” she said gruffly.  “With any luck it’s a bad cold, but best to be sure with winter coming.”

Dusk was falling as they hurried up through the yard to the front door of the house, shadows creeping along the packed dirt with dark, grasping fingers as they swept by.

“Bae?”  Rumple opened the door, ushering in the wise woman.  “It’s only me.”

He shut the door behind them, turning to face Bae’s cot, and his blood ran cold.  Bae was thrashing a little, his face slick with sweat and his breathing shallow.  The wise woman looked sombre, but she bent by his bedside and laid a hand to his forehead, wincing at what she felt.  She unlaced his tunic, peering at his chest, and let out a heavy sigh, getting to her feet and turning to Rumple.

“There’s nothing I can do,” she said simply.

It was as though someone had reached inside his chest and crushed his heart, squeezed his lungs.  He could barely breathe.  His pulse throbbed in his ears, and his skin suddenly felt too tight, the air too heavy.

“I - I don’t understand,” he said numbly, and she sighed again.

“He has the sweating sickness,” she said.  “See the rash on his chest?  He may not last the night.  There’s nothing I can give him that will help.  You’d be throwing your money away.”

“But…”  Her words were agony, stabbing into him like knives.  “Please, I’ll give you all I have!”

“I’m not trying to make you pay me more!” she snapped.  “I know when my skills are of use, and when they’re not.  Save your coin, Rumplestiltskin.  Save your coin and pray to the gods, because I can’t help you.  I wish I could, lad.  Truly.”

She turned to go, and he grasped at her arm in desperation.

“Please!” he begged.  “I can’t lose him!  I’ll do anything!  Please, if there’s anything you know, anything at all that can help…”

Brighde sighed, dark eyes glinting in the low light of the fire.

“You’ll do anything, hmm?”

“Anything!” said Rumple quickly.  “Can you help him?”

“I can’t,” she said heavily.  “But perhaps the Blind Witch can.”

“The Blind Witch?”

Rumple swallowed hard.  He had heard rumours of her, whispered behind hands and in darkened corners.  It was said that she lived in the lee of a mountain, a good two hours’ walk away.  Not far enough in the opinion of the villagers of the Vale.

“I thought - I heard she practices terrible dark magic,” he whispered, and Brighde snorted.

“Aye, and if there’s anything that can save your boy, it’s magic,” she said.  “The question is, can you pay the price?”

“I have a little money,” he said quickly, and Brighde shook her head grimly.

“I doubt she’ll want money,” she said.  “Take my advice, and stay with your boy.  If you’re to lose him, you shouldn’t spend the time you have left crawling through the woods seeking out an evil sorceress.”

“I have to try!” he said desperately.  “I have to!  Where is she?”

“Beyond the next village, up in the woods where the mountainside folds in on itself,” she said, shaking her head as though she thought he was mad.  “There’s a cave there, I’m told.  Foolish boys dare one another to creep to the entrance.  Sometimes they come back.”

“Then I just need to get him there,” he said, almost to himself.

“It’s Wolf’s Time, or had you forgotten?” she demanded.

“You said he might not make it through the night,” said Rumple desperately.  “I have to try!  If wolves come - well, I’ll take a torch with me, and I have my staff.  That should be enough.”

She stared at him, dark eyes narrow and shrewd.

“I can’t work out if you’re incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,” she said finally.  “Maybe both.  Only a brave man could face down a pack of wolves to find the Blind Witch, and only a madman would want to.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.  “There’s nothing else I can do.  Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for maybe sending you to your death,” she said bluntly.  “Beware her price, Rumplestiltskin.  No magic is without it.”

* * *

Rumple’s first problem was working out how to get his son to the Blind Witch.  Brighde helped him lift Bae and put him on the cart they had taken to market, the unsold goods quickly thrown into the house to make room.  She muttered under her breath the whole time about men not having the sense they were born with, but when Bae was safely on the cart with blankets tucked around him, she wished him luck, washed her hands and face thoroughly with lye soap (encouraging him to do the same) and waddled off home.

Rumple was unable to push the cart himself, as he needed one hand free for his staff.  Instead, he rigged up a rope harness that tied around his chest and shoulders, and pulled it along behind him, a burning torch clutched in his free hand.  It was hard going, pain lancing through him and his limp becoming more pronounced as he passed the next village.  The first wolf howls sounded, echoing around the valley, and he felt his breathing quicken as he glanced around, his heart thumping as he peered into the darkness, the light from the torch swallowed up by the night.  The howls sounded again, mournful and somehow hungry, and he tried to move faster, turning up the rutted, overgrown track that led towards the cleft in the mountainside.

A stone cairn marked the end of the track and the edge of the forest.  The cairn had a small hollow in its middle, and no marking other than a single stone at the top.  That stone had been carved to show a stylised, grinning face with its hands over its eyes.  The mark of the Blind Witch.  A small, wrapped bundle had been placed in the hollow, along with a stone jug of ale.  He didn’t touch them.

The forest was thick this side of the mountain, the ground soft with fallen leaves and pine needles.  Trees loomed over him, coal-black shadows oozing along the ground in the faint moonlight, thick rivulets of darkness chasing him into the forest.  The wheels of the cart caught on fallen branches and in rabbit holes, and Rumple was exhausted by the time the trees started to thin and give way to a small, dark clearing.  Gossamer clouds covered the moon, their dark threads thinning and parting to bathe the clearing in bluish light.  Another wolf howl sounded, this one very close, and he held the torch higher, hoping and praying that the fire would keep the wolves at bay.

He could see the entrance to the cave, a dense, shadowed opening in the hillside, and took a deep breath, trying to summon the last pitiful shreds of his courage.  This was Bae’s only hope.  He had to do this.

A wolf walked into view, head turning towards him as it blocked the entrance to the cave with its body.  Rumple shook his head, unable to believe that they had come all this way only to be thwarted on the witch’s doorstep.  The wolf prowled back and forth, watching him as it went, thick muscles moving in its shoulders.  It was a she-wolf, but bigger than many he had seen, and he wondered if she was even scared of the flaming torch.  She certainly appeared to be regarding it with what he took to be wolfish disdain.  He took a step forward, fear for Bae overcoming any other.  Her hackles rose for a moment, lips pulling back over her teeth in a snarl, and Rumple felt terror rise through him.  But with it, to his surprise, came the courage formed of desperation.  He took another step forward, the torch shaking in his hand.

“Please!” he begged, as though she could understand him.  “Please, my son is sick!”

The wolf growled again, eyes filled with moonlight, shoulders hunched and ready to spring, but almost at once she pulled back, raising her snout to sniff the air.  She snorted through her nose, tail swishing once, and blinked at him.  Intelligence shone in her eyes, and something that he couldn’t quite grasp.  It was almost as though she understood that he meant her no harm.  She stared at him for a moment, then turned and wandered into the cave without looking back.

Letting out a heavy breath and trying to calm his racing heart, Rumple strode forward into the mouth of the cave.  Torches burned, stuck in cracks in the walls, but otherwise there was nothing to show that anyone lived here, and no sign of the wolf.  A tunnel led off into the heart of the mountain, and Rumple took it, dragging the cart over ground that was surprisingly smooth.  The torches puffed out as he passed, those up ahead flaring to life, and his breath hitched in his chest.   _Magic_.  He told himself firmly that this was a good thing; the Blind Witch clearly existed, she could clearly use magic, and therefore perhaps she would help Bae.  For whatever price she would ask of him.  He tried not to think about that part.

Light gleamed at the end of the tunnel, a cool, pale purple glow the colour of bellflowers.  The wolf was sitting on her haunches before it, as though she had been waiting for him.  Rumple swallowed hard before striding towards the light, and started at the sound of a high, sweet chime that echoed around the tunnel.  He stopped, uncertain, and a voice rang out.

“A visitor.”

Its tone was muddled and rasping, at once smooth and rough, high and clear and low and grating, as though it were a collection of different voices, speaking as one.

“Who would come in the middle of the night at Wolf’s Time, to seek out the Blind Witch?”

Rumple’s heart was in his mouth, and he felt as though his tongue had swollen to three times its size, but he made himself speak.

“Please!” he said.  “My son is sick!  I - I don’t know what to do!  You’re my only hope!”

There was silence for a moment, and he was about to speak when the voice echoed around the tunnel again.

“Bring the boy inside.”

Sagging with the first feelings of relief he had felt since Bae had been taken ill, Rumple pulled the cart towards the light.  The wolf stood up before he reached her, giving him a final, curious glance before trotting past him back towards the forest.  The tunnel opened out into a round room, set about with wooden boxes, shelves filled with books, and a small wooden table with two chairs.  A curtain hung on the far wall, as though it covered a door, and he eyed it with trepidation.  He pushed the harness up over his head, rolling his shoulders to ease the pain in them.

“Hello?” he said.

“Leave the cart,” said the strange voice.  “Push the curtain aside, and enter the Witch’s domain.”

Rumple glanced at Bae, his face twisting in fear at how pale and clammy his son was.  His breathing was even shallower, rattling in his chest, his skin almost grey in the strange light.  Praying that the Witch would help, he grasped his staff and strode forward, pushing the curtain aside and stepping into another room.  This one was larger, with two chairs upholstered in silk and stuffed with cushions, patterned rugs on the floor and a fire crackling in the hearth.  A small cot was near the fire, simply made up with blankets and pillows.  There were shelves of bottled ingredients, and a large table with crystal vials and a large cauldron.  The pale purple glow came from candles mounted in sconces around the walls.

The witch stood facing him, a creature made of light and shadow, her form swathed in darkness with bland, unmemorable features sketched in silvery light.  A glamour, he thought.  Witches could change their appearance, everyone knew that.  She was tapping her lips with a finger, the dark shape of her head moving slightly as she looked him up and down.

“Come into the light,” she said, and he shuffled forwards nervously.  He could see another curtain-covered opening behind her, and wondered where it led.

“You’re lame,” she said, and he cringed.  “You brought him all the way here from your village when you can barely walk?”

“I had no choice.”

“How did you injure your leg?”

“The Ogres War,” he said.  “The - the First Ogres War.”

“You got out alive?” she said.  “The ogres don’t leave many alive, I hear.”

Shame flared in him, spreading through him like oily, rancid smoke, but he had to speak.  He had a feeling that she could tell if he lied.

“I - I did it myself,” he whispered.  “I injured myself, to leave the front and get home to my son.  I’m - I’m a coward.”

“You shattered your own leg to return to your child?”

It was said in a flat tone, without emotion, but it made him cringe all the more.  He nodded, and there was silence for a moment.

“Tell me about your son,” she said, and he almost wanted to weep with relief.  Perhaps she would help after all.

“His name is Baelfire,” he said.  “The wise woman says he has the sweating sickness.  It’s spreading through the country from the city.  Many have died.  She says - she says he may not last the night.  There was nothing she could do.”

“And you expect me to say otherwise?”

“I…”  He swallowed, leaning heavily on the staff.  Her shape was hard to look at, shifting and changing like rippling grass.  “I - I hoped.”

“I cannot work miracles,” she said, and there was a hint of regret in her voice.  “Not if he is too far gone.  Magic cannot bring back the dead.”

“Please!” he begged, dropping the walking staff and clasping his hands together.  “Please, I can’t lose him!  I - I’ll give you anything!”

The Witch turned slowly on her toes, the shadows moving, the silvery features curving into a tiny smile.

“Anything?” she said softly.

“I - I don’t have much of value,” he went on.  “No - no gold or jewels, I’m just a poor shepherd and spinner.  But anything I have that I can give, I will.”

She was silent for a moment, and turned away again, resuming her slow pacing, and he felt his heart thudding hard in his chest.  Perhaps she would ask for his life, or take his good leg.  He would gladly give up either if it meant that Bae would be safe.

The shadowed figure turned towards him then, and he swallowed.

“The villagers leave things in the cairn at the edge of the forest,” she said.  “Food, ale, even linens and pots, sometimes.  Gifts to the Witch to keep her away from their houses and their children.  Offerings to appease her.”

Her tone was dry, and he tried to understand what had offended her.

“What can you offer me, Spinner?” she asked then, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“I - well, I have wool,” he said hastily.  “Or - or I’m a weaver, too.  I could weave you a shawl so fine it would pass through a ring.”

“I don’t doubt it.”  She sounded amused.  “However, I won’t take your things.  I believe you have more need of them than I.  All I want you to do is answer three questions.”

Rumple blinked.

“Three - three questions?” he asked.  “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she confirmed.

He thought frantically, trying to see a possible catch.  It seemed too easy.

“Wh-what if I don’t know the answer?” he said, and she chuckled.

“There is no right or wrong answer, Rumplestiltskin,” she said.  “But you must answer truthfully.”

“Of course!”  He felt relief wash over him, and bent to pick up his staff, grounding it under himself.  “I’ll answer anything you want to ask of me.”

“Very well.”  She turned to face him.  “Bring your boy in.”

“Wait…”  He held up a hand, his brow wrinkling.  “How - how did you know my name?”

“If you want me to cure him, move quickly,” she said a little sharply, and he almost fell in his haste, gripping the staff tight to keep himself upright.

Bae was still breathing, his clothes soaked with sweat, and Rumple gathered him up as best he could, the staff digging into the smooth floor of the cave as he carried him through.  The Witch had turned to her collection of bottles and jars on the shelves, and was muttering to herself as she measured and poured and stirred.  The rumours said she was blind, but she seemed to have no difficulty in moving around or recognising the ingredients she was using.  Of course, the rumours also said that she roasted children in the fireplace and ate them.

“Put him on the cot,” she said, and Rumple laid his son down, straightening up with relief.

The Witch turned, holding up a vial of potion.  She looked it over, concentrating on the contents, and a plume of cornflower blue mist swirled around it, turning the potion silvery-white.  She hurried to Bae’s side, laying a hand across his brow before opening his mouth and pouring it in.  Bae coughed and spluttered, moaning a little, but she gently stroked his throat until he swallowed the potion.  He began thrashing, arms flailing, and Rumple started forward in panic, but then he stilled, letting out a long, shaking breath, and slipped into sleep.

The Witch brushed his tousled hair with a hand before straightening up, a tender gesture that eased Rumple’s fears.  Whatever she was, she was kind.

“He’ll sleep until noon tomorrow,” she said.  “You can leave him there, he will be well, I promise.  Tired, and very hungry, but he will be well.”

“Ah.”  He didn’t want to leave.  Perhaps she would let him wait on one of the wooden chairs in the room next door.  “I - thank you!”

“Come.”

She beckoned to him, before walking through the curtain-covered opening in the wall behind.  Rumple followed, staff clunking on the ground, and stepped through into what had to be the Witch’s bedroom.  A large canopied bed  was tucked against the wall, and a dresser held silver-chased bottles and ornate brushes.  A mirror showed an odd, rippled reflection of the Witch as she passed, as though it was made of water.  Or that the Witch was not truly there.  Fear rose in him again as she turned to face him.

“And now the matter of payment,” she said.

“Three questions?” he said.  “Of - of course.  Ask away.”

The Witch began pacing again, shadow and light flowing as she walked back and forth across the room before turning to him.

“Do you fear me?” she asked, and he swallowed hard.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“And yet you still came,” she mused.  “I thought you said you were a coward.”

“I - I am,” he insisted.  “Ask any of the villagers, they’ll…”

“Ask those who cower in their homes whenever there’s the slightest rumour that I’m walking the woods?” she said, amusement plain in her voice.  “Yes, I’m sure they’re an excellent judge of cowardice.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“You, though,” she went on, “you came to face me.  Knowing what I am.”

Rumple stared at her prowling figure, unsure what she wanted from him.

“He’s my son,” he said simply.  “I - I would face anything if it meant keeping him safe.”

“Yes, very cowardly,” she said, with a soft chuckle.  “You could have let the boy die.  Surely you can have other children?”

Rumple bristled at the suggestion.

“I can’t just _replace_ him!” he said hotly.  “He’s everything to me!  And it’s not as though I could if I wanted to!”

“No mother, then?” she said.  “Did the sickness take her too?”

He ducked his head then, shame flooding over him, harsh and blistering as boiling pitch.

“My - my wife is dead,” he whispered.  “Taken by pirates.  I couldn’t stop them.”

“A single man with a limp couldn’t stop a band of murderous pirates?” she said softly.  “And this is something you blame yourself for?”

His mouth twisted.

“I - I didn’t even try to fight,” he admitted.  “If I had - they would have killed me.  I told you.  I’m a coward.”

“They would have killed you, leaving your son without either of his parents,” she said.  “You chose to think of your son.  That sounds practical, not cowardly.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged, and looked at the floor as she began pacing again.

“Second question,” she said, and he blinked rapidly as she turned to him.  “Do you trust me?”

Surprised at the question, he opened and closed his mouth.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good,” she said.  “And I trust you.”

All at once the light changed, the silvery-purple glow draining away to be replaced with warm candlelight, and the shadows cloaking the witch melted, pouring off her to slink into the corners of the room.  She shook her head a little, reddish-brown curls shining, a dark green shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and Rumple stared at the familiar blue eyes and the faint, silvery scar on her perfect neck that marked her as a witch.

_“Belle?”_

“You haven’t forgotten me, then,” she said, amused.  “I thought perhaps you might.”

_I could never forget you.  No one ever could._

“The - the Blind Witch is _you_?”

“No,” she said, with a brief chuckle, and reached onto a shelf, taking down a crystal jar with a silver stopper.  A faint purple light shone out from it.  “The Blind Witch is here.  She was making quite a nuisance of herself, cursing people and eating the local children, so I came to stop her, and trapped her in this form.  She sleeps very soundly, I assure you.”

“But…”  He tried to organise his thoughts, and she waved a hand around the cave.

“This?” she said.  “Well, it seemed the perfect place to hide.  Everyone is terrified of the Witch, you see, and none but the most foolhardy knight would dare try to attack her.  I needed time, to gather my strength, to finish my magical training.  This was the perfect place to hone my skills.”

He was still staring at her, unable to believe that she was here.  After all this time, Belle was there in front of him, beautiful as ever.

“I must apologise for the charade,” she said, with regret in her voice.  “Red knew it was you, but…”

“Red?”

“The wolf,” she explained.  “She recognised you, but I’ve had too many bad experiences while on the run.  Childhood friends, people I trusted, telling me sad tales and begging me to come home.  Only seeking to get close so they could tattle to my father and claim the reward if I was captured.  I had to be sure you wouldn’t betray me.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” he said, and she sighed.

“They found the empty chains, you see,” she said.  “According to the clerics I clearly used the darkest of magics to free myself and wreak havoc on the land.  I’m officially a dangerous witch, with a price on my head.”

“I would never betray you, Belle,” he said softly, and she smiled.

“I know,” she said.  “You’re one of a handful of people who can say that and I know it to be true.  I thought about you a lot, you know.  All those days on the run and nights shivering in the cold and stuffed into haystacks.  I thought about how you and Baelfire found me and took me in, and gave me all you could.  I missed you, Rumplestiltskin.”

“I missed you too,” he said.  “We both did, but - but I don’t understand.  When we found you, you said they had falsely accused you of being a witch...”

“Oh, the accusation was false then,” Belle assured him.  “But I thought about it a lot, and I figured that perhaps that was the one thing I could use to protect myself, if I could learn to harness it.”

“You learnt to use magic?” said Rumple, curious.  “Where?  How?”

“A powerful sorceress named Maleficent,” she said.  “She lives on the edge of another kingdom, far from here.  Occasionally she takes an apprentice.  I was with her for two years.  Enough that I could summon and control magic, use it to heal, to protect myself.  I had no need of some of the darker things she taught me.  I - I just wanted to be safe.”

Her face had grown sober, as though the memories upset her, and Rumple shook his head.

“You could have come to me,” he said.  “You could have come home to me and Bae.  We would have taken you in, no questions.  We could have hidden you.  You - you didn’t need to do this, to _be_ this.”

“And have my father hunt me down, and kill us all?” she said.  “No, Rumple.  I had to do this.  I had to gain my strength, to protect myself and those I - I care about.”

He nodded.  He could understand that need.  Belle reached up then, touching his cheek with the palm of her hand.  It felt strange, after going so long without a gentle touch.  Bae would hug him, of course, and kiss his cheek, but Belle’s touch was different.  Soft.  Intimate.  She had stepped closer, her eyes dark in the candlelight, her skin warm and smooth and her lips full and glistening where her tongue had slipped out to wet them.

“So my third question,” she whispered.  “Do you want me?”

He swallowed hard, his heart thumping.  Was this an apparition?  A vision of Belle, conjured from his own mind?  Was the Blind Witch simply toying with him?  He didn’t believe that: he was sure it was Belle, and he had to answer truthfully.

“Yes!” he breathed.  “I’m - I’m sorry!”

“Why?”  She was smiling at him.  “Why apologise?”

“Because…”  He trailed off, trying to put what he was feeling into words.   _Because you’re perfect, and I’m a coward.  You’re young and sweet and kind and beautiful, and I’m old and broken._

Belle stepped closer, almost touching him, and he felt his breath quicken as her hand clutched at his shirt, her fingers brushing his chest through the linen.

“I want you too,” she whispered.  “I thought about it, you know.  I thought about you so often after I left, and I thought how easy it would have been to stay.  To stay with you and Bae, to be part of - of a family.  To be loved.”

“Yes!” he sad softly, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips against the top of his chest where the shirt had gaped open.  Her touch tingled and burned, making him gasp.

“I wanted to stay, Rumple,” she said.  “I - I want you to stay now.  Stay with me until the dawn.”

He could smell herbs in her hair, a clean scent that mixed with her own, and he could feel the warmth from her hands on his chest.  She was close, so close, her breathing coming hard in her chest, as hard as his own was.  Her lips were full and dark in the low light, her eyes deep pools, and he wanted to touch her, to kiss her.

“Please, Rumple,” she whispered.  “Please stay with me.”

His lips were almost touching her forehead, and he bent his head a little, his nose brushing against hers.  Her breath was cool on his mouth, and he drew it deep into his lungs, inhaling her, as though he was keeping a part of her inside him.  He raised his hand to cup her cheek, smooth and warm beneath his palm, and she stretched up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.  Her lips were soft and warm, sending a tingling sensation through his body, and he let his fingers slide into her hair as she pressed herself against him, a tiny moan escaping her.

It was as though her touch, her kiss, had lit a fire inside him.  He let his staff fall, his arms sliding around her, and Belle opened her mouth with a gasp, allowing him to gently touch her tongue with his own.  She let the shawl slip from her shoulders, revealing a plain dress in brown wool over a white linen shirt.  The bodice of the dress was tight, pushing her breasts high, and he drew back, wide-eyed, as she began pulling at the laces, opening up the bodice of the dress and shrugging it off.  Her hands went to work on the laces of the skirt, then, deftly plucking and pulling, until it pooled at her feet in a puddle of soft brown, leaving her in the linen shirt, the pale length of it hanging partway down her thighs.

Rumple swallowed hard.  The candlelight was shining through the linen, showing the curves of her body, and he was reminded of the time she had been in his house.  In his bed.  He had tried not to look at her then, and now here she was, standing before him, wanting him to see her, to touch her.  It felt like a dream.

Belle took his hand, pulling him closer and putting it to her breast, and Rumple gasped at the feel of her, the kiss growing harder as she caught his mouth with hers.  Her fingers found the clasp of his cloak, flicking it open and letting the heavy wool fall, and then she pulled at the laces of his shirt, opening it up before grasping the bottom and pulling it over his head.  He stumbled a little on his bad leg, but she caught him with her arms around his waist, and he brushed her hair back from her face.  Her fingers danced over his skin as they kissed, brushing over the thin, wiry muscles of his chest and stomach, the taut nipples and the hollowed lines between his ribs.

Her hands dropped to the knotted tie of his pants, tugging at it and pulling it open, and Rumple felt his heart thumping hard in his chest, barely able to believe she was there.  She pulled back a little, her eyes flicking up to meet his, her lips plump and moist from their kisses.

“The bed,” she whispered.  “Come to bed with me.”

She backed away, lifting the linen shirt over her head, and Rumple’s mouth went dry at the sight of her, pale skin and soft curves and the dark nest of curls between her thighs.  She reached for his hand, drawing him with her to the bed and climbing on, and Rumple bent to tug off his boots, wondering when this beautifully vivid dream would end.

His pants were loose, and he let them fall, climbing onto the bed, Belle’s hands reaching for him and pulling him down onto her.  She smelt of woodsmoke and lavender, and her skin was softer than he could have imagined.  He cupped a breast with one shaking hand, hardening as Belle moaned and arched upward into his touch.  The nipple was taut, pushing against his palm, and he bent his head to kiss down her neck, lips trailing down to fasten over the pink peak.  Belle moaned again, writhing a little, and he groaned as he sucked at her, her skin faintly salty, his mouth watering at the taste of her.  Belle’s fingers sank into his hair, combing through it, her nails gently scraping his scalp.

“Touch me!” she breathed.

Rumple kissed back up her neck to press his mouth to hers, once hand trailing down over the curve of her hip and between her thighs.  She gasped at the first touch of his fingers, and he gently parted her folds, groaning in pleasure as he felt the slippery wetness there.  Belle moaned into his mouth, and he broke the kiss, pushing himself up a little on knees and elbows as he stroked her.  She felt incredible, soft and wet and hot, and she was breathing hard, gazing up at him with those wide eyes, darkened with desire.  He gently pushed a finger inside her, and her eyes closed, a soft moan bursting from her as her head rolled back.  He wondered if she was a maiden, and if so he didn’t want to hurt her.  Milah had cried on their wedding night.  He didn’t want to make Belle cry.

He rubbed at her with his thumb, careful to brush around the raised bud at the top of her cleft, Belle letting out a loud gasp as he did so.  He kept his movements slow and steady, his thumb circling and swirling, his finger pushing in and out of her, and her nails dug into his shoulders, perspiration forming on her upper lip as her cheeks flushed.  She arched her back, pushing herself into his hand, whimpering as she neared her peak, and her lips parted with a cry as she came, her flesh gripping his finger.  He was breathing hard, his heart thumping at the feel of her, at the sight of her beauty.

He drew his finger out, and Belle sent him a lazy smile, her eyes shining.

“That was wonderful,” she said.  “Are you - are you ready?”

He nodded, swallowing hard in his nervousness, and she reached up to cup his cheek, brushing his hair back.

“What is it?” she asked softly, and he shook his head.

“I - I don’t want to hurt you, Belle,” he said.  “I’ll try not to, I promise.”

“Pain is part of life,” she said.  “I want you, Rumple.  I want to be with you.  The pain will soon be gone, I’m sure.  Don’t worry about me.”

She kissed him, her mouth soft and sweet, her hands gently pulling him down onto her.  He lay between her legs, naked skin pressing together, her tongue gently touching his, and he reached down to take himself in hand, lining them up.  She felt wonderful, and he pushed inside her slowly, gritting his teeth, being as careful as he could.  He pushed against her barrier, and Belle’s hands tightened on his shoulders, her body stiffening and making him look up worriedly.

“Are you alright?” he asked anxiously, and she nodded, her fingers still digging into his skin.

“Go on,” she said.  “I’ll be fine.”

He pushed further, breaking through, and she let out a squeak of pain and squeezed her eyes shut, chewing her lip.  He stopped immediately, feeling terrible, but then she opened her eyes, her expression clearing a little.

“I’m alright,” she said.  “It’s not too bad, really.”

He thought she was probably trying to make him feel better, but she slid her hands down his back and gripped his buttocks, pulling him firmly against her, and so he followed her lead, beginning to move slowly, thrusting gently, enjoying the blissful feel of being inside her.  He felt her relax, her brow unknitting, a contented sound coming from her as he moved.

“Yes, Rumple,” she whispered.  “That’s good.  That feels good.”

She gave him a tiny smile, and so he kissed her, and she arched her body upwards, her breasts pushing into his chest.  Her hands were in his hair, stroking and caressing, and she felt so good, so hot and wet and tight around him, that he wanted to weep.  He could feel himself nearing his peak, and part of his mind wanted to hold it off, to spend longer with her, buried inside her, but then she moaned into his mouth as he hit her just right and he was lost.  He came with a low groan, breaking the kiss, his head rolling back as he spurted deep inside her.  Belle bucked her hips against him, pulling his seed from him, moaning with him, and he let his head fall, pushing his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder and breathing in her scent.

He would have been happy lying in her arms for hours, but he was worried that he would hurt her more, and so he pushed up on his elbows, feeling himself begin to soften inside her.  Belle’s eyes fluttered and opened, a wide smile spreading across her her face, and she cupped his cheek again, her thumb rasping over his stubble.

“That was beautiful,” she whispered.  “I love you, Rumple.”

“Yes,” he breathed.  “Yes.  And I love you too.”

She kissed him, pulling at his lips with hers, and settled back into the pillows with a happy sigh.

“Come back with me,” he said then.  “Come back with me and Bae.”

Belle shook her head.

“I can’t,” she said regretfully.  “Not yet.  I need another year to perfect my magic, and then I know that I can protect you both if the worst should happen.  I’ll come to you at Samhain, if you’ll wait for me.”

Rumple stroked her hair, fingers brushing over her cheek.

“I’ll wait forever.”

* * *

Time passed, and the seasons changed.  Bae healed quickly under Rumple’s care, and the year turned as always, winter to spring, summer to autumn.  Samhain approached, and Rumple opened the door of their house one morning to feel the bite of cold air in his throat, the chill of the first frosts.  He walked out to open the barn door to let the sheep out, glancing around the farm as he did, and a flash of colour caught his eye.

Past the well, in the shadow of the apple tree, a beautiful woman watched him, dark hair falling around her face, a bright red cloak pulled around her shoulders.  He recognised her from the road, the woman Bae had thought was a fairy.  She nodded to him once, and hitched the hood around her face, turning and walking away.  He blinked, uncertain, and then the woman seemed to shift, almost fading into the trees.  Another woman appeared, chestnut curls shining in the morning sun, a dark green shawl around her shoulders.  She caught his eyes, and smiled, and he felt his heart swell with love.

Belle had come home.


End file.
